


Oneirataxia

by dreadpiratewatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Hurt Sherlock, Idiots in Love, John Loves Sherlock, John Plays Rugby, John Saves The Day, John Takes Care Of Sherlock, John Watson is a Saint, John is a Very Good Doctor, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Sebastian Wilkes Is A Dick, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is a Mess, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadpiratewatson/pseuds/dreadpiratewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While at a pub with some friends, John runs into schoolmate Sherlock Holmes, who is nearly toppling over from the roofies that his quote-en-quote boyfriend slipped into his drink when he wasn't looking. Terrified and on the verge of hallucinating and passing out, Sherlock begs the kindhearted rugby captain to help him, and throughout the night, things escalate, confessions are made, and Sebastian Wilkes gets a broken nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oneirataxia

The night was young, and the air was crisp and cold as the four boys jumped out of the car and sauntered into the noisy pub with enthusiastic laughter. They were still dressed in their rugby uniforms, covered in mud and sweat, but they were too excited to care at that moment. They had just won their biggest game of the season, and they were looking to celebrate. 

They all ordered a pint and sat down at a table in the back corner that was angled just right so that they could still see the game on the large television screen near the ceiling. They whooped and hollered with the rest of the people there as they enjoyed their beer. 

"Hey, Watson, that was a good game man." Greg Lestrade complimented the rugby captain as he raised his mug to his lips. 

Mike Stamford punched his captain in his arm. "You did good, Watson." 

"Yeah, if you hadn't brought up that play, we would have lost." Bill Murray added. 

"Nah, come on guys." John tried to hide his embarrassment. 

Lestrade shook his head. "You're too modest." 

John Watson was actually the team's savior. They had actually been doing quite poorly before John and his family moved down to London two years earlier. Sandy haired, blue eyed, and muscular with a great smile, John Watson was a strapping young man with a great life ahead of him. He was a guardian angel to the team, and he was adored by most. 

The rugby player drained his drink and got to his feet. "I'm going to get another pint, you coming, Greg?" He asked the silver haired teen beside him. 

"Nah, man, Molly wants me to come over, so I'm going to head over to her place." The other three boys made 'ooooh' noises, earning some eye rolls and mockery of their stupidity. "You guys are idiotic." He grumbled as he slid out of the booth. "Bye, guys."

"Bye, mate!" John called after him before getting to his feet. 

Mike looked up. "You leaving too?" 

John shook his head. "No, I'll be back." The captain slid out of the booth and made his way to the back where the restrooms were. But, before he could open the door, he felt a dead-weight body fall against his own, causing him to stumble forward. "Christ, mate!" He grumbled. "Watch it!"

"Sorry, sorry..." He heard a deep baritone voice grumble. He turned to look at the figure who had run into him, and was surprised to see Sherlock Holmes, one of his schoolmates, standing slumped against the wall. His dark curly mop of hair was disheveled and unruly, his face was sweating and his eyes were wild. He looked fucked up. He was breathing rather heavily. 

John reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but took it away when the younger kid flinched. "Hey, mate, you alright?" 

Sherlock shook his head. "N-No. He put something in my drink." He mumbled, holding himself against the wall for support. "The room is spinning... I need-" He stumbled forward right into John's arms. 

"Hey, hey, hey, don't pass out on me, who put something in your drink?" The rugby player asked firmly, the wanna-be doctor side of him taking over. "Who was it? Do you know him?" 

Sherlock tried to squirm out of his grip, but he was halted by John's iron grip. "Sebastian." He gasped out. "Sebastian Wilkes. My boyfriend." 

A certain anger he couldn't pin point the real reason behind welled up in his chest. "Your _boyfriend_ drugged you?" Most people would say something about the 'boyfriend' part of the skinny boy's statement, although John wasn't bothered. Having a married lesbian sister, he was used to being around people who indulged themselves on the other side of the rainbow.

He nodded weakly. "Ketamine. That's what it feels like. Numbness, dream-like state... I need... I need to go home. He'll find me if I don't." 

John shifted the boy's weight-although it was minimal, the boy was as skinny as a twig-in his arms. "Mate, you need a doctor." 

"You're going to be a doctor." 

The rugby captain's jaw dropped. "How did you..." Before he could get an answer, Sherlock slumped deeper into his arms, and he had to struggle to hold him up. "Alright, come on, I'm taking you home." He lifted the dark haired boy higher, supporting him heavily as he slid his hand around his skinny waist, curling his fingers around his rib cage. "Come on, mate, I've got you." 

"Don't let Seb see you." The boy mumbled. 

John smirked darkly. "Trust me, Sherlock, that's the last thing you have to worry about. You should be more concerned about me finding him." He said. 

Sherlock made some sort of noise acknowledging the captain's threat, then leaned into him further just so he could allow himself to be dragged through the pub.

As they passed the table where Mike Stamford and Bill Murray were still sitting with their beer, the two called to John in confusion, but saw the intoxicated man at his side, and quickly changed expression as the two pushed through the doors of the pub, and stepped outside to the curb where John's car was parked. He pulled the passenger door open and helped Sherlock Holmes into the seat before running around to his side and crawling in. He briefly looked over at the dark haired boy, whose face was covered in sweat while his rather stunning eyes that were a voluptuous bluish-green went in and out of focus. He had his head against the cold window, breathing evenly in and out through his nose, causing a small patch of fog to appear right under his nose. John felt the urge to reach out and brush a sweaty curl from the man's forehead, but thought against it. "Mate, I'm going to take you back to my place, just in case your scumbag boyfriend thinks to go back to your house, okay?" 

Sherlock looked over very briefly, his eyes filling with fear. "Do you think he will?" 

John shook his head, although he was unsure. "Even if he does, I have a gun." 

A small smile played at Sherlock's cupid's-bow lips, and he settled in the seat. 

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" John asked as he started to drive away toward his flat. 

He nodded weakly. "If my brother finds anything out about this, I'll be fucked." He grumbled. 

John was skeptical, but he decided to listen. "I won't take you to the hospital now, but I will if something goes wrong, alright?" 

Sherlock huffed. 

When they pulled up to the rugby captain's house, John quickly pulled Sherlock out of the car and up the stairs to the second floor. The steps were achieved with much difficulty, but they finally made it to the door of his bedroom.  John hauled Sherlock through his room and lay him down on the bed, then pulled back to take his coat off. Just as he did, Sherlock reached up and grabbed his arms so tightly it almost hurt, but the fear in the boy's eyes stopped John from protesting. "Please don't leave me. Don't leave me here by myself, please." He pleaded in a raspy, terrified tone. 

John stared down into the teenager's eyes, analyzing the fear, and decided it was a good idea not to leave him. "Sherlock, it's alright, I'm not leaving you by yourself. Not in this state." He watched the boy relax when he smiled, and carefully lay him back down on the bed.

John sat almost questionably close to him, keeping one hand on his arm just below his shoulder. Sherlock curled into a small cocoon-like ball on his right side, half curled around John's body, squeezing his eyes very slightly. He was still sweating like mad, which was a bit worrisome to John. The rugby captain watched him, and admired the boy's complexion, setting aside the sweat. His skin was milky white against his thin, lithe frame. He was slender, but it suited him nicely, taking into consideration the nice dress shirt and coat he wore, although he was wearing black jeans and converse, but even that looked good on him. The black pea-coat that covered his arms was the finishing touch that made him look sophisticated and attractive in every way possible. Even in school, throughout the classes that John shared with Sherlock Holmes, he was always the most intelligent person in the room, and made a point to make sure everyone knew. His intelligence alone was by far one of the most attractive things about him, and the things he did while thinking were wonderful as well. He'd hold his fingers in front of his face in a prayer position, or chew on the end of his pen, and it always made John smile. Although he was a righteous dickhead a lot of the time, because of his seemingly lack of compassion or a human heart even, he was always one to make John's heart skip a bit. 

Which was probably why this situation bothered him as much as it did.

Finally, John sighed and looked away from the boy. "Sherlock, where was Sebastian when we left?" He asked carefully. 

"Washing his hands. He said the counter was too sticky." Sherlock mumbled in a strained tone. 

John gritted his teeth. The bastard had only been a few feet away from him, and he didn't get a chance to punch him in the face. "Why did he do this?" He demanded. "Were you going to a club, or something?"

Sherlock sighed and buried his head further into John's pillow. "Ketamine isn't just a party drug, John."

"Then what..." Suddenly, it hit him. It hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt the rage course through his veins like he hit rapids on an agitated river. His hand that had been resting comfortably on his knee clinched tightly into a fist. "He was planning to..." He couldn't even finish the sentence. 

"Date rape drugs are often used at parties, so, you weren't wrong about the-" 

"I'll kill him." John snarled, cutting the boy off. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so furious. "I always knew Sebastian Wilkes was a pig." 

Sherlock groaned. "John-" 

"Don't even try. Anyone who even thinks about doing shit like that is a pig." 

"John, I-" 

"You can't defend him, Sherlock." 

Suddenly, he felt a desperate hand on his arm. "John, the room is spinning." Sherlock gasped. "Please, help me, I can't... I can't breathe. It's too hot. John, I don't feel... Help me, please!" 

The relentless anger melted away in an instant, and the rugby player knew what was happening. He got to his feet and grabbed both of Sherlock's arms. "Sherlock, look at me, it's okay, it's just the drugs. You're going to panic and make it worse, now just try to breathe." He ordered calmly as the younger man gripped his arms like they were the only things keeping him afloat in a sea. "Sherlock, look at me, it's okay." 

The dark haired boy was breathing heavily and his face had gone an all new shade of white that was terrifyingly pale. "John-" He choked out. 

John put a careful hand on his chest, which seemed to calm him down immediately. "Sherlock, listen. You're overheating because you're panicking. You need to relax." He said gently, locking eyes with the boy. Sherlock's eyes were still wild and flicking from side to side, but they were trying to focus on John. "Now, I need to get this coat off of you, but I'm not going to touch you if you don't want me to. If it becomes too much, tell me. I don't want you to be overwhelmed. Alright?" 

Sherlock's eyes widened, but he finally nodded, and relaxed his rigid limbs. "Help me." His voice was a soft whimper that was nothing short of pleading. 

John did as he said he would, slowly and cautiously slipping the black pea coat off of the boy's shoulders, revealing the tight black shirt that fithim so nicely, it made even the rugby captain do a double take. The moment the coat was off, Sherlock took a deep breath in and grasped at his chest with his left hand while the fingers on his right hand became claws on the bedspread. John wanted to pull both hands away, but he knew that pinning the kid's arms down would only freak him out more. "Sherlock, I need you to listen to me, you're alright, I promise, it's just the drugs." He said over and over and over again, wishing desperately that he could d something more, and silently battling with himself on whether or not to call an ambulance. He had never done drugs-even less so _been_ drugged-besides a few joints he smoked at parties on the off season, and even those were pointless little plants that made him feel happy for a while. He had no experience with things like this. And yet, here he was, half cuddling a very fucked up Sherlock Holmes, a boy he had never said more than four words to before that day, on his bed while the poor kid writhed and cried out for John multiple times, despite the fact tht he was sitting beside him. He didn't know what to do. "Sherlock, I think I need to..." 

Suddenly, without a warning, Sherlock was off of the bed and running at full speed toward the bathroom. John was following right behing him, terrified that he would stumble and fall, but he made it, and just as he did, he heaved up the contents of his stomach, with John right behind him, holding his hand on his back ever so comfortingly as he bent over the toilet. His body wretched and shook terribly while he clung to the seat, and all John could do was sit there and hold him. 

Finally, after a few minutes of just coughing, Sherlock took a deep breath and leaned his head against the seat as he steadied his breathing. 

John bit the inside of his mouth. "Are you... okay?" He asked carefully. 

There was a weak nod, followed by a soft, poor attempt at a throat clearing. "May I have some water?" Sherlock's tone was utterly dead. His voice was scratchy and feeble, but that was nothing compared to the exhaustion that came through clearly. 

"Of course. I'll be right back." John jumped up and ran into the kitchen to get a glass of water, then stopped at the linen cabinet for one of the spare toothbrushes his mother insisted in keeping in the house at all times. When he stepped back into the bathroom, Sherlock had already managed to heave himself up to a standing position, and was scooping water into his mouth with trembling hands and washing his face. The rugby captain held out the glass of water, which Sherlock gladly accepted. "I uh... Also brought you this." He said, holding out the toothbrush. "I figured you'd want to brush your teeth. My mother keeps extras in the house, so I just thought..." 

"Thank you." Sherlock said, pealing the packaging off. "Really... Thank you." 

John smiled. "Not a problem." He stood in the doorway while Sherlock brushed his teeth, not watching, just standing by in case he needed anything else. Once he was done, he set the toothbrush on the counter and stood over the sink with his head hung and his fingers gripping the countertop so tightly his knuckles were white. His shoulders began hitch, and for a moment, John thought he was going to vomit again. It wasn't until he saw the teardrop fall onto the countertop that he realized he was crying. "Sherlock, are you-" He was cut off by the sound of a low, gasping sob that the boy tried so hard to hide. Not knowing what else to do, John reached out and started to pull Sherlock to the floor, allowing him to cry. "Hey, hey, hey, Sherlock, it's okay." John said in an attempt to be soothing. He kept his hands on the boy's arms, gripping them very lightly just above his elbows. He didn't know what he was supposed to do other than sit there and let him cry. "Sherlock, it's okay, mate, it's really okay." 

"What did I do?" Sherlock finally whispered. 

John was taken aback by the broken tone. "Wh-what do you mean?" 

The boy looked up, and for a moment, John's heart shattered at the sight of how hurt he looked, and all he wanted to do was hug him and punch Seb Wilkes in the face many, many times. "What did I do? I tried to be good, I tried to..." Sherlock tried to hold back a sob. "I thought he loved me. What did I do wrong?" He broke again, burying his face in his hands. 

_Oh._  

_Shit._  

John had no clue what to say to that. "Sherlock..." He said softly, taking the boy's wrists in an attempt to pull them away from his face. He was sitting close, almost too close, close enough that he could see the stunning blue-green of his eyes and the luchious curve of his lip, he could feel the heat of his breath that now smelt of fresh spearmint .. And anyone else would have thought he was too close. But, John didn't actually care as much as he probably should have. "Sherlock." He said again, firmer, making the boy focus on him. Once he had his attention, he smiled gently and gave his thin wrists a comforting squeeze. "Nothing that you did was the reason for this. Seb Wilkes is a total prick, and I swear, if I ever meet him, I'll slaughter him. What he did to you is unforgivable." The rugby captain told him softly. 

Sherlock tried to hide his tears. "I thought he..."

"You don't drug people who you love, Sherlock." 

He flinched very visibly back into the wall and hung his head. "Mycroft was right." He uttered in a low whine. "I shouldn't have... I'm so stupid, why would he every..." 

"Sherlock, don't degrade yourself." John ordered, hearing the tone in his voice. "You don't deserve it." 

The dark haired boy sighed. "Apparently I do. I'm an idiot." 

Before John could respond, there was a distinct buzzing sound that was coming from the bedroom, and he froze. Anger began to course through his body, and he growled. "That better not be him." He got up and stomped back towards the room, leaving Sherlock behind. The boy's phone was in his coat pocket, and John quickly took it out and stared at the screen, seeing exactly what he didn't want. 

_Where are you, Holmes? -SW_

_Don't make me look for you. I won't be happy. -SW_

_You better not have left me, you piece of shit. -SW_

_You went home with someone, didn't you. -SW_

_You're filthy, Holmes. -SW_

_How dare you embarrass me. -SW_

_You're disgusting. You're like a dirty dog. I was going to give you the night of your life, you cockslut. -SW_

_You really shouldn't have left, Holmes. No one will ever like you, you know that. You're a heartless little cockslut and that's all you'll ever be. You should have just let me have you before you ran off. No one will ever love you but me, and I'm even reconsidering it right now. You don't deserve love. -SW_

_You piece of shit, I hope something happens to you. Don't come crying to me tomorrow. I have no sympathy for you. -SW_

John couldn't read anymore. He felt the black rage bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach and he fought away the urge to hurl the phone across the room. He set it down on the dresser and tried to settle his anger before going back to Sherlock. He also made a silent vow to kick the shit out of Sebastian Wilkes the next time he saw him. 

"Was it Seb?" Came Sherlock's soft, weak baritone voice from the doorway. 

John nodded, but didn't turn around. "Yeah." His voice was tense. 

There was a pause, then the creak of the floorboards from him shifting his weight uncomfortably. "What did he say?" 

"Trust me, Sherlock, you really don't want to know." The rugby captain said, finally turning around to face the boy. Sherlock made no attempt to argue. John looked him over, taking in the paleness of his face and the redness around his eyes from crying. He was wobbling ever so slightly. "You okay?" He asked carefully. 

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Fine. Just... Just tired. I'm starting the crash." 

"Here, lay down." John reached for him and helped him slump back down on the bed. 

He curled up on his side and buried his head in the pillow, breathing heavily in through his nose. "John-"

Before he could finish, his phone began to vibrate across the top of the wooden dresser, and John growled. "If it's him, I swear to God." He reached for the phone and felt a sick sense of rage-fueled excitement. He sent a dark smirk toward Sherlock, which the boy returned with wide eyes. Sliding his thumb across the screen, he answered the call and and pressed it to his ear. 

Over the phone, he could hear the other boy fuming as he took deep, heavy breaths. "Listen here you little cockslut." Sebastian growled. "How dare you-"

"Sorry, Sebastian, Sherlock's not here right now." John sneered. 

There was a pause. "Who is this?" Came the flat response. 

"Not important." 

"Where's Holmes?" 

John grinned. "Away. But uh... Just a message for you, if you ever, ever do anything like that to him again, I will find you, and I will kick the shit out of you. I play rugby, mate, so don't fuck with me." He kept venom in his voice, knowing he could get his point across. Sherlock had pushed himself up onto his elbow and was now watching him with a stunned, almost amazed expression, which only fueled the fire in the captain's belly more. "I took him home with me. He's in my bed." 

"Oh, so you're fucking him now? Fun, isn't he?" 

He scoffed. "No, I'm not a pig like you." 

Sebastian laughed humorlessly. "Fine. Take him. I don't care. He was nothing to me. Just a bit of fun. He's a dog, mate, he'll do anything. It's pretty gross." 

John's face got hot. He felt Sherlock, who could hear everything, flinch very visibly into the mattress. John looked over to see the pained, humiliated expression on his face, and began seething with rage, but he kept it under control. He couldn't let this prick get to him. "He's actually wonderful, I can't believe you let him go. But, you don't deserve him anyway, so I don't feel shit for you." 

"Now you listen-" 

"No, now _you_ listen, _Sebastian._ If you ever, and I mean ever, attempt to contact Sherlock Holmes again, I will hunt you down and rip your worthless dick off. Now stop calling him." Then he hung up and threw the phone back up on the dresser before turning back to Sherlock with a satisfied grin. "See? Taken care of." He said. 

Sherlock was staring at him in dizzy awe, but there was no mistaking the shock. His jaw dropped, but he closed it again when no sound came out. He tried again. "Wh-why did you do that?" 

Taken aback, John scrunched his eyebrows. "Not good?" He questioned, concerned he may have overstepped. 

"No, no, no, it was... Good. Very good." He quickly intercepted. "It was very good. I just... No one's ever done that for me before." 

John watched as his expression changed, and didn't miss the nervous joy that passed through his eyes. The rugby captain realized that what he knew about this kid in front of him was completely wrong. The way Sherlock Holmes appeared to be, and the way Sherlock Holmes really was were two different people. One side was always pushing people away, while the other was begging for just one person to stay behind. Unfortunately, he chose a terrible person to ask. "Well..." He looked down at the bedsheets. "Maybe it's time someone starts." 

Sherlock reached for him just as he started to get up. "Can you... Stay with me? Just for a little while, just until I fall asleep?" 

The rugby captain smiled and slid back into the headboard while Sherlock lay beside him, curled up in a ball on his side, facing him. Anyone else would have seen their closeness as something else, but John didn't actually care all that much. He just lay there with the boy and listened to him breathe. The softness of his face was like that of a young boy's, calm, blissful. It was... Nice. 

Something he had said earlier replayed in his mind, and he looked down at the boy in his bed. "Sherlock?" 

"Hm?" 

"How did you know I was going to be a doctor?" 

Sherlock snickered into the pillow. "It was easy. The classes you're taking in school, all of the science, the pamphlet on the table for medical school, which was the easiest part, and the way you immediately took action when I needed you to help me. You knew what you were doing. It was an easy enough leap." He explained, sounding like the old Sherlock again. 

John took in what he said and laughed. "You are bloody brilliant." 

He felt him freeze. "You think I'm brilliant?" 

"Very." He met the boy's eyes, and for a moment, the world froze. 

John had always been in the closet. His interest in both boys and girls from a young age was never something he hid. His first love, schoolyard romance James Sholto, he married under the slide when he was six. No one cared about gender back then. Everyone was allowed to love anyone because they were children and no one could be bothered with that. Ten years later, during the summer before James died in that stupid car accident, they had a wonderful fling at Mr. and Mrs. Sholto's lakeside cottage. Everything was perfect; the sun, the lake, the cool, sweet summer air as they lounged outside on the deck or in the sand, lounging about in each other's arms while the water crashed in gentle waves at their feet, tickling their toes with the cold splashes. Mr. and Mrs. Sholto didn't mind them being together like that, they just smiled and let the happy boys be themselves. They'd sleep together, eat breakfast together, went for drives together, went skinny dipping when it got dark, they spent every waking minute together and it was the most amazing days of John Watson's life. At sixteen, John felt love for the first time. Real, true, beautiful love that blossomed and bloomed while the August sun blazed above him, and in that moment, after a tender kiss in the water that came up to their necks, John decided he had found the one he wanted the marry. 

When James Sholto died that October, just two months after their wonderful two weeks at the cottage, John understood what it meant to feel numb. When he found out about the crash, it didn't hurt, it didn't burn, there were no thoughts of _oh god, no..._ For once, there was nothing. He was numb. At the funeral, he watched Mr. and Mrs. Sholto sob and mourn, but yet, John could not shed a tear. He couldn't even cry when Mrs. Sholto went in to hug him. He didn't feel it until a year later, on the anniversary of his death when he found an old hoodie of James' that he had left in John's room, and even after a year, it still had a lingering scent of James. That was enough to crack him. That was enough to commuovere John Watson to tears. From that moment on, he decided that he didn't want love from anyone else. 

He filled the hole for a while, useless flings with girls and boys from parties, but nothing was ever enough to make him feel anything. When he met Sherlock Holmesmoor the first time, he was instantly smitten. The boy was rude, a bit arrogant, and he had no sense of human nature, but he was also charming, handsome, and intelligent. He never spoke a word to the boy, though, the attraction could never be enough to make him do anything, and of course, Sherlock had no interest in him anyway. Plus... In a way, it felt like he was betraying James. So, he pushed the idea of Sherlock Holmes out of his mind, convincing himself that he didn't want anything out of it. 

But yet, here he was, lying in bed with the very boy he convinced himself he didn't love, centimeters away from his face, and all he wanted to do was kiss him. 

So, he did. 

The kiss was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Sherlock's unique, Cupid's bow lips were soft and tender and they still tasted of spearmint from the toothpaste. Just as his lips captured Sherlock's, the boy made a sound of surprise, and he tensed up. John, realizing he was probably still a little shaken up because of the drugs, reached up to cup the boy's cheek with his hand, the touch alone sending electric shocks through his fingertips. His heart was pounding like a bird's, and his head felt like it was floating above his shoulders, but he felt euphoric. He put every emotion he had into that kiss, every repressed feeling he had from James' death, to the first time he realized he was in love with Sherlock Holmes and every time in between. For the first time since James Sholto's death, John finally felt like he had found his nepenthe. He cradled the boy's face in his hands, holding him sweetly, knowing it was nothing like Sebastian Wilkes ever did. He was gentle with him. 

When he finally broke away, his ears were still ringing and he could still feel the static on his lips. The rugby captain, almost delirious with joy, gazed down into Sherlock's eyes again, only to find that they were filled with tears. His heart immediately dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he was overcome with dread, thinking that he had completely overstepped his bounds. "Sh-Sherlock, I-" He swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" He started to push him away. He didn't want to make it worse. 

The boy surprised him by grabbing his arms. "No, please don't leave! It wasn't bad, I just..." He cut off, his voice cracking again. John stayed back, but remained tense. Sherlock bit at his lip while his wild eyes scanned John's face. "I'm just afraid that this is all just a drug-induced hallucination, and I'll wake up tomorrow, sober, and this will have been all in my head. I don't want you to be fake, John. I want this to be real." He whispered, his voice low and pained, and it nearly broke the captain's heart.

"Oh, Sherlock." John breathed, going lightheaded with relief. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to the younger boy's and wiping the single tear from his cheek with his thumb. "This is real, I promise you." He reassured him. Knowing he had come to terms with his feelings, he smiled. _Fuck it._ I love you, Sherlock, I have for a long time, and this is very, _very_ real." Seeing the fear in the younger boy's eyes, John sighed and came to a decision. "I have an idea. You need to sleep off the rest of those drugs, so you and I are going to lay here, and we're going to sleep. I'll hold you all night long, and if you start hallucinating or anything, I'll be here. Sound good?" He asked him kindly. 

The younger boy nodded, burying his head in John's neck. "Very good." 

With a light chuckle, John reached out and turned off the light, then crawled under the covers to wrap his arms around Sherlock. He felt him relax at John's comforting touch, and within minutes, he felt exhaustion overtake him. "'Night, Sherlock." 

"Goodnight, John."

***

In the morning, the psithurism of the trees in the cool morning London breeze was what woke John. He slowly allowed himself to open his eyes, and was immediately struck with a smile. Sherlock was still curled up in his arms, breathing softly, a small, ghost of a smile at his lips. The rugby captain sighed blissfully and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's curly mop, which caused the boy to stir and open his eyes. John chuckled when the boy gazed sleepily up at him, still in a tired daze. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He whispered. 

Sherlock blinked, partially in confusion, partially in shock. "You're still here." He commented. It wasn't rudeness, it was more like wonder. 

John laughed. "Of course, I am. You're in my bed. If you wanted me out, you would have had to move." 

That got a smile out of him.

"How are you feeling?" The rugby captain asked. 

Sherlock rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. "Fantastic, actually, you're still here, proving that nothing was a dream." The boy grinned, and it quickly became one of adoration. He sighed and nuzzled his nose into John's neck again. "Seb never... Well, he hated this." He said, gesturing to the cuddling. "He'd stay a while, then he'd leave. I never got to do this with him." 

That struck a chord, but John only held the boy tighter. "Well, you and I both know that I'm a hell of a lot better than Sebastian fucking Wilkes." He said. 

Sherlock laughed, pulling back from the rugby captain. "Yes, in fact you are." He leaned in for a kiss, while John accelted, the same electric static pulsing through him again. When they parted, Sherlock was still smiling. "I love this." 

"I do too." John agreed, kissing him again.

They lie there for a moment before Sherlock spoke again. "So... What is this?" He asked casually. 

John raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, what are we now?" Sherlock responded, his voice slightly strained. 

But, John only smiled. "Well, Sebastian did say I could have you, so, I think I'm going to take him up on that."

The two stayed in bed for a little while longer, but got up at the sound of John's alarm which told him it was time to get ready for Saturday morning rugby practice. Sherlock seemed sad at the realization that John had to leave, but John assured him he could come with if he so pleased. "You don't have to worry about the team," John told him as they were getting dressed. "They're normally really cool, and I know that if you're with me, they won't say anything to you." 

Sherlock smirked. "I guess it pays off to be a scary captain." 

"You have no idea."

When they got downstairs, Mrs. Watson, John's cheerful, colorful mother, had made pancakes as she often did on Saturday mornings for John before he went off to practice. Sherlock had expected her to be upset as his sudden appearance, but Mrs. Watson only smiled and scolded John for letting someone stay over with his room as messy as it was before apologizing to Sherlock for the state of her son's bedroom. John grumbled and blushed, but Sherlock found it rather amusing and tried his best not to giggle at the rugby captain. 

After Mrs. Watson left for work, Sherlock decided to pry. "She didn't seem upset that I stayed the night." He commented. 

John only shrugged. "She's known I'm not exactly straight for a while. Besides, my sister Harry is a lesbian and she got married two years ago, so before then, we had Clara around here a lot. Mum doesn't exactly care about those sorts of things, she just wants us to be safe. As long as we're safe, she could care less what we do." He explained, popping a piece of pancake into his mouth. "What about your parents?" 

"Pretty much the same. Although my brother, Mycroft, he's a bit... Well, he just wants me safe. He warned me about Seb early on, but I was stupid and didn't listen." 

"What do you think he'd say about me?" 

Sherlock snickered. "Oh, you'll hate each other, but not because of us, he just hates most people. You'll hate him because he's annoying." 

John only laughed.

Rugby practice was nothing like Sherlock expected. Bill and Mike came running the moment John arrived, demanding to know what happened, but they were quickly silenced when Sherlock stepped out of the car, looking uncomfortable and slightly nervous. John smiled and introduced him as his 'sort-of boyfriend', earning a blush from Sherlock and a happy, yet slightly stunned reaction from his teammates. Everyone was happy for their captain, not saying a single word about the 'sort-of boyfriend'. Why should they care? 

Sherlock went to go sit on the bleachers with Molly Hooper, who had shown up with Greg-the evidence of their romantic night still in the air-to chat and watch practice while John took the time explaining what had happened the night before to Greg, Mike and Bill. The three players listened angrily to their captain tell the story, and they tried very hard not to get angry. 

"God, what a scumbag." Greg hissed once John had finished. "That's bloody sick." 

"Was Sherlock okay?" Mike asked. 

"The hallucinations enough must have been terrifying." Bill Murray agreed.

John sighed. "I took care of him as best I could, he was pretty shaken up though." 

"Well obviously, whatever you did worked." Lestrade half-joked, a genuine smile etching its' way across his face. "When did you two actually get together during that time?" 

The captain blushed. "When he was done being brilliant." 

The three rugby players laughed at their friend's remark, then turned their attention to their coach to practice. Occasionally, John would look over at his 'sort-of boyfriend' in the stands, just to flash him a smile on occasion and _totally not_ to show off. Whenever Greg caught him looking, the center would shoot his captain a smirk, only to receive a silent 'fuck off' from John. Practice went on as usual, they played, they sweated, they ran about the field going through plays, and John _totally_ didn't show off for Sherlock. Totally didn't. 

However, just as the final few minutes of practice ran down, John was running a play, when he heard Greg calling for him. He turned on his heal, only to see Lestrade pointing into the stands where his boyfriend sat with Molly, and a very, very angry looking Sebastian Wilkes was sauntering towards. His anger from last night bolied over and he started to stomp over. He watched Molly get in front of Sherlock, but Seb pushed her out of the way and she fell to the row bellow. Greg cried out in anger and went running over just as she fell, and John ran right over to Seb, just in time to watch him slam Sherlock into the fence behind him. He wasn't taking this shit anymore. 

"How dare you embarrass me like that." Sebastian growled in Sherlock's face, holding him by the collar of his dress shirt.

"Seb, don't, please!" Sherlock was shouting at him, terrified. 

He pushed him back again. "Shut the fuck up, you-" 

_"Get your fucking hands off of him."_ John snarled, grabbing the boy's shoulder and whipping him around before pulling his fist back and punching the piece of shit square in the jaw. Sebastian Wilkes fell further back into the fence, and before he had time to catch his breath, John was in his face again, punching him harder than he did the first time. With his fists bloody from nearly breaking the other kid's nose, the captain took him by the collar and carefully lifted him up. He allowed his eyes to flash with every bit of fury he felt for the kid on the ground, making it very clear where he stood. "I warned you, mate." He growled calmly. "I warned you this would be the outcome if you ever contacted Sherlock again. Now," He threw the kid back down on the ground. "Get the fuck out of here, or I will _really_ hurt you." 

Sebastian Wilkes needed nothing more. He scrambled away like a frightened puppy with his tail between his legs. 

Smiling to himself, John turned back to face Sherlock, but was surprised to see him gone. He briefly looked down to Greg, who was holding an icepack to Molly's head. "Where did Sherlock go?" 

"He ran toward the parking lot." Molly replied, clearly in pain. 

John went running off toward the parking lot, hoping to catch up to Sherlock before he got too far. He found him leaning up against his car, smoking a cigarette, keeping his eyes on the ground. John sighed, but stopped a few feet away. "Those things will kill you." He said casually. 

Sherlock chuckled. "Probably." He threw the half finished cigarette onto the pavement and looked up to face his 'sort-of boyfriend'. "Thank you for, um... That."

"He deserved it." 

"You're not wrong." He replied with a smile. "So! 'Sort-of boyfriend'?" 

John laughed. "We didn't exactly make it official, so that's why I said it that way." 

Sherlock bit at his lip. "If I wanted to drop the 'sort-of'..." 

"You wouldn't even have to ask." John reached out and curled his fingers gently around his boyfriend's face-God, how wonderful that sounded-and pulled him in for a kiss, the same electric feeling exploding behind his lips as they connected. He would never get tired of kissing Sherlock. Ever. 

That night, after they went to dinner at a lovely Italian place called Angello's and John met Sherlock's family and all, they kissed on the doorstep before the rugby captain went home. After getting home, he laid in his own bed for all of fifteen minutes before falling asleep with a smile on his face.

***

Exactly one month after the night they met, John drove to Sherlock's house at midnight, just to say goodnight. He scaled the wall, knocked on the window, and when Sherlock opened the glass, John didn't let him say a word before capturing him in his arms again. The couple collapsed on Sherlock's bed in a heap, and very, very quickly, the room became heated, all while they tried to be silent, as not to disrupt Mycroft Holmes, who was sleeping down the hall. 

All of the whispered _I love you_ 's seemed to echo off of the walls of the bedroom and the feeling was so selcouth to Sherlock, he was nearly moved to tears. John didn't mind, however, he simply held him and kissed him softly throughout the night. He wanted Sherlock to know that love didn't have to be hurtful and full of betreyal like his relationship with Sebastian was. He wanted Sherlock to feel how ethereal love could be. 


End file.
